Lying on a blanket on the barking sand
The waves crash on the beach
masking the calls of jungle birds.
Nearby the palm fronds flutter
like cocoanut fans rattling
in the ocean breeze.
[written on Jeribucaçu Beach near Itacaré, Bahia, Brazil]
Trancing on drum beats and chanting
Welcome to the Orishas,
Passion seizes candomblé souls
White-clad in a circle of power.
The spirit possesses —
Ogum bares his iron sword
threatening conflict and war.
Oxum flows around him
water contained in land.
Omolú shakes his straw-covered head
eyes hiding death and disease.
Iansã blows and storms,
unstoppable force of nature.
Oxossi hunts his inevitable prey
providing food and prosperity.
Xangô twirls breathing fire,
flames thundering from his limbs.
Iemanjá, siren of the sea,
hears fisherman ask for protection and plenty.
The spirit possesses —
Eyes rolled up white
Bodies trembling in ecstacy
Welcome to the Orishas!
[Thanks to the Balé Folclórico de Bahia for an excellent performance in Salvador, Brazil.]
Salvador is sultry.
The air is heavy with the sweat of the city.
I am in the stream of consciousness.
I sit on the toilet — yes, picking my nose — and ponder the scruffy grey tiles on the wall and floors. I let the cachaça (Brazilian rum) settle into me so I can relax and eventually sleep.
Earlier we sat at an outdoor table at the cafe, our plastic chairs creaking as we shifted our weight to watch what was going on. Teenage prostitutes flock uneasily around the man whose wrinkles betray his desire. His throat throbbing under long black hair, the guitarist strums and sings bossa nova over the chatter and occasional singing, murmurs, or claps of appreciation from the crowd. Those paying for drinks sit at tables and the others stand attentively on the cobblestones.
Back in the Arthemis Hotel, green mosquito net curtains hang wafting in the wind on a long wooden pole that droops with its weight in the center, though supported by a yellow wire would around a nail in the concrete wall above the white ceramic blocks with round and oval holes that never shut to block the breeze but protect the room anyway from all but the fiercest storm.
The next morning when we woke up, I got all the money Guille would need for his journey and gave it to him. Then I told him that morning was our last chance to be intimate with each other for a long time and I wanted to be intimate with him, but I would understand if he wasn’t interested. He went for the intimacy! 🙂
After we got cleaned up, packed, ate breakfast, and checked out of the Hotel El Sol, we bought Guille’s bus ticket and brought my laundry to a lavaderia where they agreed to have it ready within a few hours. We walked through town, had a drink after sitting for awhile on a park bench, then picked up the laundry and headed back to an Internet cafe where I called in a hotel reservation, and emailed my uncle about not being able to cover him on grandparent duty during his trip to South Africa because it would start a day before I return from this trip and because things are crazy at home in San Francisco — I heard from my housemates Kat and Joannes that they will move out and the contractor working on the roof of the rear bay window has apparently really screwed things up. I told my uncle that I would of course be available on an emergency basis to fly to Rockville and help my mother take care of the grandparents if necessary. I haven’t heard back from him in almost two weeks — he didn’t even reply to email from Pierrette, our relative who I visited in São Paolo (more about that later).
It was rough hanging out in the Puerto Iguazu bus station waiting to say goodbye to Guille — as I write this tears are springing from my eyes. I think I really fell for him. I heard from him later, after calling him, that he made it back home just fine, then went to his hometown to visit his sick mother. He asked when we will meet again. I asked if he’d like to come study English in San Francisco. I haven’t heard back from him yet — it might be a bit much for him.
The bus ride to Foz do Iguaçu, the town on the Brazilian side of the border, was uneventful. I had to get off at the border, go through the formailities, then board the following bus. I walked from the bus stop at a supermarket to the Posada Evelina. Evelina’s adopted son let me in with the minimum hospitality required. Later, Evelina returned to the hotel and gave me an orientation with a bit of motherly advice. I met an Israeli woman named Elizabeth who, aside from her recovery from bad weather in Rio where she had brought some friends, was friendly and fun to converse with in French. We decided to go for dinner at the soup bar restaurant she had found with lots of vegetarian options — the first since Buenos Aires in my meaty travels.
After dinner, we walked to a restaurant in the center where a charming fellow was singing and playing guitar. We delighted in sample the creme mamão (papya) with cassis dessert and each had a different flavor of caipirinha. Elizabeth danced a bit and even dragged me to the floor for a reggae tune at the end of the evening. We went off in search of more fun in town, convincing ourselves that it really wasn’t as dangerous as the guidebooks and mother Evelina had warned us. But the town was dead, so we just walked back to the hotel and went to sleep.
Luckily our trip to the Argentinian side of the Iguazu Falls was a great success. We headed to the falls on the first available bus and the place was virtually empty when we arrived. We walked almost the entire “Upper Circuit” path of the falls before encountering another person, so it was a magical and romantic experience. That trail and the “Lower Circuit” trail make it possible to see many of the falls up close, far away, and from all different angles.
The falls are much more spectacular than what I remember of my trip ages ago to Niagara Falls, especially the part called Devil’s Throat (Garganta de Diablo). Guille fell into a bit of a trance there, whereas I started to get a bit motion sick and had to step away for awhile. We also took a boat ride which brought us right up under the falls so we got totally soaked. It wasn’t that warm a day and we ended up shivering for awhile on the boat and on a truck ride through the forest back to the center of the park.
On the truck ride, we learned that the true palmito tree is an endangered species with not many living anymore in the park or elsewhere. The palmitos we usually eat are another species cultivated on farms in Brazil.
Before the boat ride, we had walked on an island trail which was quite wonderful as well. To round out the day, we took a last hike on a trail where we saw another guinea pic like creature and some coatis, which look like a cross between raccoons and anteaters and travel in little packs. We caught a bus on the road back to town and we were completely exhausted.
Guille grew more and more agitated about returning to Montevideo. He was worried about his mother’s health, about finding work, and about keeping his apartment with Santiago. So we agreed that he would head back to Montevideo via Buenos Aires the next day, while I would continue on to Brazil. I drew a tarot card which confirmed that was the best idea… the Hermit! I felt a bit hurt especially because he didn’t want to be very affectionate with me. I think he may have worried that I would try to keep him with me. So we slept in two separate beds. Of course, neither of us slept well at all.